


In the Middle of the Night

by maybethefall



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Bargaining, Co-Conspirators, F/M, Mixed Canon, noncanonical, secret meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:23:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1839262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybethefall/pseuds/maybethefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa goes to Petyr to ask for another reprieve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Middle of the Night

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very much a show-first fan but this work is book-informed (particularly for the end of book 4).

Sansa walked the halls with a certain deftness in the threadbare light. She strode along a path she had taken many times before. She could walk it in her sleep. Still, her hand grasped for the wall and she paid close attention the metronome-like sway of her brocade coat against the floor. The castle was beginning to fill with strangers. Walking into the wrong room had become an increasing possibility.

She stopped in the middle of the hall. She reached out and ran her hand across the door. She let out a sigh once she felt the familiar warp in the wood. Sansa opened the door and walked in without so much as knocking.

The light was minimal—just a candle to highlight the starkness of the room. He sat at a desk, books and papers strewn about in a fashion she found haphazard. Their eyes met quickly. "Lord Baelish?" she asked,her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes, what is it?" he asked softly.

She closed the door and stood a moment, her eyes transfixed on him. She could just make out the start of his scar peaking out above his bedclothes. And though it wasn't the first time she had seen it, there was always something singularly surprising about the marred flesh—and the knowledge that it extended further than she had ever seen. She knew to tear her eyes away once she realized what she was doing. She moved to take the chair across from his, pulling so close that their knees almost touched. "I have something I want to discuss."

"Do you?" He leaned back in his chair, adding, "You have so many things to ponder now. After all, the date is three months away."

"Yes. It isn't far from your mind either?"

"Of course not. It is an important day for both of us. This alliance will be beneficial to all involved."

"I understand, my Lord," she said, her voice tight, "It's importance is foremost in my mind."

"And I do not think he or his family will wait much longer—especially since we have asked them to push back the wedding date three times," said Petyr.

"All for legitimate reasons," Sansa countered.

"I would not disagree. At first, your mourning period for Robin proved longer than previously anticipated and needed to be respected."

She nodded her agreement. She still remembered their promises for respect and distance as their bodies—counted in literal touches and slow physical accumulation—began to encroach on her home and life. "And then once they discovered who I really was…"

"They need so many explanations. So much proof."

"And we gave it to them in all of it's various forms."

"I did my best … for you, that is," he said.

"Everyone was amenable. The Septon was particularly understanding and did not require an examination. He issued the annulment and all should have been well but …," she began. Her gaze broke from his and trailed north toward the ceiling. What was the third reason? 

He smirked and leaned forward, his left hand just grazing her knee. "For the moment, it is fine that you don't remember the third reason for our delay. But you must remember it soon, especially since you have come to me to consider a fourth."

Sansa let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. It felt hard and ragged—a bit like disappointment. She leaned forward and asked, "What do you think?"

"About asking for another delay? They will not be pleased."

"That's not what I asked," she said, "What do _you_ think?"

Petyr paused and, for a moment, seemed to contemplate the question anew. He finally frowned and said, "I worry about the timing."

"For the wedding?"

"And for our plans." His left hand settled on her knee; his eyes never strayed from hers. "Winter is beginning to settle in. Stannis Baratheon and Roose Bolton fight tooth and nail for the control of the North. Who's to say when they victor will be crowned? It could happen so quickly."

"Or slowly," she countered. Sansa leaned in a placed her hand on his left knee. "They could pick each other apart slowly and my Beloved and our allies could sweep in when they're at their lowest. I will be returned to my home and you will have the ear of the Northern houses."

"All this assumes that we still have allies after delaying this wedding for so long. Allegiances aren't written in stone. You know that better than anyone, sweetling."

"Perhaps." She closed her eyes and said, "He will be gone for another three months. Can we not find the time to afford me a fourth?"

"Thirty extra days will change very little." His hand gripped her knee and his eyes shifted to the right. "This marriage will not be so bad."

"You assume."

"That's all anyone can do. His reputation is impeccable." 

"He is brave and handsome: how could his reputation be otherwise," she said, her voice lapsing into sing-song intonations.

Petyr let out a low laugh. "I assume you've heard rumors of the third natural-born child?"

"It's expected," she said, a little mirthful. "A lady will be plied with questions and demands in regard to her maidenhood but a knight will do as he pleases to the delight of all."

And with those words the room fell silent. Sansa immediately began to go over each word again. She had been too coarse or, worse, too obvious. After so much practice, she had let her feelings show through. A certain embarrassment came over and she didn't know how to proceed next.

Petyr was of no help to her there. Save a slight crinkle at his eye, his face seemed blank. The shadows danced across his face, highlighting different angles but essential showing the same expression with each flicker.

His glance eventually broke from hers to the floor. "What would you do with your extra month?

"I will work hard to bring the lords to my side. It is not enough that they fight for my husband. They must love me as well," she explained. "As it stands now, they are passingly fond of me and somewhat tolerant of you. That needs to change."

"Then I will see what I can do."

"Truly?" she asked, her voice betraying her excitement.

"I can promise nothing," he said with a shake of his head.

For the moment it didn't matter. She leaned in and placed a kiss upon his cheek. "Thank you, Petyr."

He laughed against her ear. "Please make it worth my while."

Sansa slipped away, pulling forward till they sat eye-to-eye. Eyes closed, and with a slight tilt of her head, she leaned in again until her lips brushed against his. For a moment, his mouth felt slack, as if taken by surprise. But he soon gave in, his lingering hands wandering up her waist to pull her closer. She did not fight it and let her own arms wrap around his shoulders.

Sansa broke the kiss with a soft sigh. "Have I ever let you down?" she asked against his lips.

"Goodnight, Sansa," he said. "Take care on your way back to your room."

"Goodnight, my lord." She waited for his arms to release her before rising. She rose and walked to door. She cast a short glance back and caught that his eyes were still upon her, a quizzical look plastered across his face. She offered him one last smile before opening the door.

Once on the outside, Sansa ran her hands across the coat, making sure to smooth away any imperfections. Once satisfied, she set off down the hall, the soft swish of heavy fabric guiding her home.


End file.
